Love and Other Bruises
by Special Agent Stace
Summary: The walls are closing in on Abby, and it's all about to come crashing down.


Something I wrote years ago, and only just got around to polishing. I am proud of it for the most part. Except if there are mistakes which there probably are since the polishing happened now, and it's really late.

Disclaimer: I don't own, just love! :) All credit goes to DPB for the original idea, the rest of the crew, and of course, the spectacular cast!

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It's too damn early for the alarm.  
I press my face into my pillow, there is no-one around to make me get up, get going. That was the old days... but I don't really know exactly how long ago they were. I try not to think about her anymore.  
Instead, I try to remember what happened last night.

All I can recall was that I drank too much, and not Caf-Pow. And then... I decided to paint my bedroom at two in the morning?  
I squint at the walls. Clearly that had been a terrible idea. We had done it so nicely the first time, purple, a carefully reached compromise between black and pink. It was perfectly us, as we were, together. Now the walls are black again, and they feel closer than ever.  
I ball my hands into fists and wince as they meet my eyes, the entire area around my left eye throbs. I stretch up from the floor where I lay, stumble over to the mirror.  
God.  
Just like my room, I'm a mess. I fell asleep in my clothes, my hair's a tangled mess, I have paint on my arms, my hands, my legs, my face. It looks like black warpaint. And to add to the war torn effect, a bruise stains the skin between my brow and cheek bones.  
No wonder it hurts. I press the skin below my eye, the color an almost pretty combination of of crimson and purple.  
No idea how that happened, but no time to wonder. Gotta get ready for work.  
Gulp down some caffeine, fight fire with fire, hope it keeps me going.  
Get rid of my clothes, burying them in the bottom of the dirty laundry, and into the bathroom. I see something shiny and symmetrical amongst the perfect crimson droplets that dot the floor. No time to think about that either, just get into the shower, under the hot water that I don't feel until it burns, burns as I scrub the black and red streaks away. Then I'm out and dried. I pull on some pants, a shirt, socks, boots. Whatever else I find that will make me at least look like myself, although I feel like it's just a costume. Then I'm facing myself in the mirror again. Brush my teeth, tie up my pigtails. I've gotta disguise the effects of last night. I take extra care with my make-up. I get away with enough as it is, wonder how the raccoon-style eyeshadow will stand with the director. Hopefully she- well, no-one- will notice. Or if they do, keep their mouths shut. Next I tend to my arm- simply put, a couple of big band-aids, like slipping back into a second skin, something I hadn't worn in years. Cuffs won't do today. Just enough time to pull on striped arm warmers, grab my bag, grab my keys. Lock up, run to my car, run, run, run. I turn up my music a little too loud, drive a little too fast, and still I wind up a little too late.  
An apology spills from my mouth, but not my heart.

There's plenty to do at first. Whenever I start to slow down, I tolerate the chatter and avert my eyes as I accept the caffeine. I don't need their sympathy today, I don't. I repeat the words under my breath until I almost believe them, and by the time I do, they become meaningless. I tell everyone that I'm too busy to talk for long, I tell them lies, they believe me. It's too easy, there's gotta be a catch. I worry about what it could be as I run tests that have no relevancy, re-running them again and again.  
It's been hours and I've managed to avoid too much contact, but now I'm out of caffeine, nothing to back me up, time to raid the machine. Wait for the elevator, wishing there was a machine on the same floor as my lab. It hisses open, swallows me up, takes me to the source of my power. Back to my elevator, back to my lab, blast some music, pretend to be doing something worthwhile. And all the while, drinking that damn drink. Still not consuming it as fast as I was consuming my liquor last night. But no-one else knows nor do they need to.  
And I don't need them today, and maybe not tomorrow, and maybe never again.  
I have my caffeine, and that'll keep me going as long as I let it.

Just when I'm beginning to fade the elevator dings, brings me back to reality. I busy myself in front of the computer, hoping that it'll be enough.  
"Abby?"  
It's Tony. The way he says my name sounds so caring, it makes me want to cry. But I can't get close to anyone, I won't. Not again. I'm sick of losing.  
He's next to me now, studies the computer screen.  
I know that he knows that it's bullshit, but he doesn't know that I know.  
He places his hand on my shoulder and still I avoid looking. Why can't he just act like an asshole today?  
It's easier to be mad than it is to be sad.  
I clench my teeth, something to distract me from thinking about how my eyes are stinging. He makes his way around to the other side of the desk, I can still feel his gaze on me.  
"Abby? What's up?" I remain silent. Maybe if I stay silent, stay still, he'll go away... no. This is Tony. Better say something.  
"I'm really tired." Will he accept that?  
"Did you even sleep last night, Abs?"  
I breathe out a little, about say yes, which is the truth.  
Then suddenly, "What happened to your eye?"  
My heart skips a beat. Silence is golden...  
"Let me rephrase that. What the _hell _happened to your eye?"What an unfair question, I don't even know. I went home from work alone, spent last night alone. There was no-one in the house but me. I want to scream this, that I was totally out of it, did some stupid shit, but that was it, it was just me, but for some reason, I can't do it. I open my mouth, close it again.  
"Abby! Answer me." Tony demanded. "Did you get in a fight? Who did this to you?"  
I guess nobody knows me well enough to know that I'm more than capable of hurting myself. Or maybe they do, and they just don't want to believe it.  
"Who?!" Tony persists.  
"Tony!" Despite all the effort I am putting into my voice to sound like normal, it comes out so... desperate. "No-one did this. It's nothing. Please go away."  
"Fine." The look on his face is defiant. The look in his eyes is hurt. "If you won't talk to me maybe you'll talk to Gibbs." He's walking away, I want to call him back. I open my mouth again, but I press a finger onto my cheekbone until the sensation spreads through my body and I feel numb. Gone.

I don't know how long I can sit here. It's been forever and I can't make my caffeine last any longer. Maybe I'll just break the windows, shatter them and let the glass rain down, climb up and out.  
But I know it's bullet resistant glass. Suddenly my memory- that I have grown to despise- takes me back to that cold, rainy night. I was here, sitting right here.  
Jump up. Pace around my lab. Gotta think of something else, anything else. What else is there? There's the fact that I have a black eye, but no explanation as to how I got it. I must have crashed, literally. I've been so used to just hiding myself for so long that my actions speak louder than my words. Made it this far alone, gotta keep going. But as I drop into my desk chair, I know I'm not fooling anyone.

I've got nowhere to run. I hope it'll all be over soon. I remain in my chair, feeling like a kid who's been sent to the principal's office. The computer screen's blank, I catch my reflection in it. Looks pretty much the same as it did this morning only now I'm wearing clean clothes, the paint's gone. Smiling is the last thing I feel like doing right now but I practice a small one. It looks so unbelievably fake that I'm disgusted with myself. Why am I smiling at my reflection? I frown. That's worse. No facial expression I make can possibly show how I feel.  
What am I going to say? I've gotta convince them that I'm okay. But first I've gotta convince myself.

Who am I kidding?

I think about you, miss you and love you every day.  
I long to touch your face again, to curl up next to you on a cold night, to share everything with you again.  
Hungover, broken and alone, rock bottom because I know that I'll never, ever see you again.

Love you, Kate.

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That's it for now I guess.  
Any thoughts?  
Even criticism is appreciated. Tbh not even an awful comment could hurt as much as the memories that I have from when I wrote this story.  
-stops venting-  
I'm alright ;)


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